


His Heart Will Keep You

by nocturneblack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, AryaxGendry Week, Canon Universe, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, axgweek, axgweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneblack/pseuds/nocturneblack
Summary: A collection of short fics for AryaxGendry Week. Some set in canon, some modern AUs.





	1. Cat Got Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm running behind with these, but hopefully I'll have all of these posted by the end of next week. This first one is set in the showverse, seeing as it's been confirmed that Gendry is back for season 7 (!!!).

Raiding the small camp of Lannister soldiers she had come across was even easier than Arya thought it would be. She was as quiet as the stillest night, and she dug through their supplies with no hesitation, the sound of the soldiers’ snores far louder than any noise she made. She loaded her horse’s saddlebags and made off on foot, pulling her steed behind her as she continued her trek through the woods.

She figured she was a few days from King’s Landing. The words _Queen Cersei_ whispered through her mind like the steady howl of winter wind.

The fixed glow of a small fire caused her to stop abruptly in her tracks, her horse coming to a halt behind her. The figure of a large man sat before the flames, warming his hands against the light. Arya dropped her horse’s reigns, knowing the beast would stay put. She gripped the hilt of her sword. It was exceedingly odd for someone to be traveling alone, and if he saw her he might rob, rape, or kill her. She crept silently until she was right behind him, and then she reached out, gripping his short, dark hair with her right hand while her left hand brought her sword to his throat. He didn’t struggle in her grip, most likely realizing that with him sitting and his attacker standing, the attacker had the upper-hand, be it a woman half his size or not.

“Tell me your name and your business in these woods,” she said into his ear icily.

He remained silent, letting out a grunt when she tightened her grip on his hair.

“Are you deaf?” she hissed. “Has a cat got your tongue? Tell me your name!”

“Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill.”

At that moment she could have sworn her heart stopped.

She lowered her sword as her grip went slack. He seized the opportunity and easily broke free from her grip, standing up to face her and pulling his sword from its hilt as he did.

It was his turn to be dumbfounded as his blue eyes took in the features of her face. He lowered his sword slowly until he was mirroring her stance.

“Arya,” he spoke, his voice low and questioning. “How… how—” he sputtered. He took a step toward her, then two more, until he was standing before her, and then wrapped her in a tight embrace. She was far too startled—by his presence, by his arms around her—to react.

“You’re alive,” he said into her hair.

“Yes,” she said, slowly bringing her arms up to return his hug. He pulled back to look at her.

“Where have you been? How did you get here?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. A short, dark beard covered the lower half of his face. In the light of the fire she could make out the familiar blue color of his eyes.

“I was in Braavos,” she said slowly, watching as suspicion passed over his face. Surely he was remembering Jaqen H’ghar.

“But I came back. And now I’m going to King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” he asked with a furrowed brow. “Why would you want to go back to King’s Landing?”

She paused for a moment.

“Surely you remember my list, Gendry.”

A dark look crossed his face before he looked down at the ground. He heaved a sigh.

“Yes. I remember.”

She waited for him to tell her she was stupid, that she would get herself killed, but he said no such thing.

“Will you let me go with you? Travel with you, I mean, just until we reach the city.”

Arya raised her eyebrows, not expecting such an offer.

“Traveling alone can be dangerous,” he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Someone might come up behind you and put a sword to your neck.”

She smiled at him.

“Fair enough,” she said.

She sat with him before the fire, warming her hands and feeling glad for the company of something she felt she hadn’t had in ages— a friend.


	2. Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M  
> v smutty  
> modern AU  
> One of these days I'll actually write about their wedding.

Arya felt like she could cut the sexual tension between her and the man sitting to her right with a knife. He was somehow even more attractive than the last time she’d seen him, and now he was in a suit. Arya sipped her champagne and cast a furtive glance in Gendry Waters’s direction.

Though it had been years, the full force of the crush she’d had on him throughout her high school years came roaring back the moment she saw him at the rehearsal dinner. Arya didn’t exactly enjoy the duties of a bridesmaid, and she had hesitated when Willow asked her. When she saw that Gendry was one of the groomsmen she was happy she had said yes.

Gendry must have sensed her staring at him; he met her gaze and smirked. Their attraction to one another had become increasingly obvious as the wedding had worn on. Really it had been obvious since she was seventeen and he was twenty-two, when he had kissed her and then apologized, saying that she was too young. Now that she was twenty-one she knew he wouldn’t use that excuse again.

She held his gaze, raising an eyebrow in what she hoped was a suggestive manner. The chatter of the other members of the wedding party at their table, as well as the noise of the reception, faded in her ears as his eyes raked over her bare chest and shoulders. The deep emerald colored strapless dresses that Willow picked out weren’t _all_ that bad.

As soon as the bride and groom finished their first dance and an upbeat song started playing, Gendry leaned over to her, pushing his thigh against hers.

“You wanna dance?” he asked. She smiled at him.

Gendry was a far more graceful dancer than she expected, keeping up with her quick movements and twirling her around with ease. Arya danced close to him, pressing her body against his as her hips swayed to the rhythm.

Before the next song started playing she stood on tip-toe—a dangerous feat in heels—to tell him she needed a drink. She grabbed his hand before he could respond. She had always found flirting to be too indirect for her tastes. She pulled him past the bar and through the double doors that led to the lobby of the banquet hall. As soon as she had him away from the crowd she turned toward him, hesitating for just a moment when she saw the confusion on his face. He seemed to catch on quickly enough, his hands coming up to rest on her waist when he realized why she had pulled him away from the reception. Arya pushed her body against his, standing on tip-toe once more as he brought his head down to hers.

Fueled partly by alcohol but mostly by years of unresolved sexual attraction, the kiss was neither sweet nor brief. Her hands came up to tangle in his short, black hair as his tongue met hers, causing a wave of arousal to spread through her. His hands slipped down until they were on her ass, pulling her even closer. Arya moaned as she continued kissing him. He pulled his lips away from hers and began kissing her neck, his tongue licking at the spot behind her earlobe.

“We can’t do this here,” she said, knowing that it was leading to far more than just kissing and a bit of groping.

“Should we go back to my place?” he asked between the kisses that he was trailing down to the neckline of her dress.

“I can’t really wait that long, can you?” she breathed.

He pulled back to look at her. His pupils were wide in his clear blue irises. Her lip gloss was smudged on his lips and in his beard. His hair was disheveled from her hands. He quickly shook his head from side to side. He grabbed her hand then, tugging her behind him as they practically ran down the hall, heading for an unmarked door. He turned the handle and the door opened, revealing a large supply closet. He turned toward her, a question written on his face. She grinned.

Gendry fumbled for the light switch, flipping it and bathing the room in dim yellow light. Arya pulled the door shut behind her. He grabbed her around the waist, backing her against a section of wall that was free from any shelving. She loosened his tie, pulling it from his collar and tossing it to the floor. She pulled him down closer so that she could kiss his neck as her fingers worked at his shirt buttons. His hands were under her dress, brushing along her thighs and traveling closer to where she ached for him. Her hands ran over the newly exposed skin of his chest and abs and fumbled with his belt buckle. His belt soon joined his tie on the floor.

“I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted _you_ —for so long,” he said as she got his button and zipper undone.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she responded, rubbing her hand along the shape of the erection that strained against his boxers. Gendry let out a low, almost pained groan as he pushed himself against her hand. His hands, still under her dress, tugged her underwear down her thighs, and she stepped out of them. He kissed her some more, his large hands coming up to palm her breasts over her dress.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” she said.

Moving quickly, he pushed his pants and boxers down his thighs until they pooled at his feet, then hoisted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his waist as he held her against the wall. He kissed her roughly, fumbling for a moment before he was pushing inside of her, the initial contact making her cry out sharply. The sensation of him filling her was like nothing she’d felt before. The overwhelming attraction she felt toward him coupled with the semi-public setting had her every nerve on fire, her body responding in full to every move he made as he fucked her against the wall. It was fast and desperate, the way his hips canted against hers, the way he grunted against her neck. The position was somewhat uncomfortable, but Arya found that it hardly mattered. In no time at all she felt the familiar sensation of her pleasure coming to an acute peak.

“Don’t stop,” she panted. “Fuck—Gendry—”

Her words devolved into shouts as she came, her heels digging into his ass and her arms locking around him as the force of it hit her. He followed her seconds later, moaning against her neck as the jagged pattern of his thrusts slowed to a halt. He pulled out of her, her feet coming back down to the floor as they both caught their breath.

She kissed him, languid and slow this time. Her body was warm and her limbs were heavy, like she could melt into a puddle on the floor. She stared up at him, reveling in the way he was staring at her.

“Now will you come back to my place?” he asked her. All she could manage to do was smile and nod.


	3. It's Not About Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-canon  
> rated g

If he really thought about it, Gendry supposed it was funny, in a way, that the lord offering to legitimize him was another bastard. Not funny like a jape, but the type of funny that was standard for how his nineteen years of life had been filled with circumstances that seemed to be under the control of forces that were far greater than he. But in this circumstance it would seem he had a choice. Lord Jon Snow had asked whether or not he wished to carry the Baratheon name. He had spent two days so far mulling it over, his frame of mind switching back and forth between thinking through the problem practically and contemplating how things like names and titles hardly seemed to matter after they’d survived the Long Night.

The world felt different. Calmer, in a sense, after so much death and ruin. What would he be if he was Gendry Baratheon? There was no castle for him to play lord in. There were hardly enough people left for him to lord over. Not to mention the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about “leading” or “ruling.” His whole life had been filled with masters and lords and kings that he’d had to answer to—he couldn’t fool himself into believing that he could ever fulfill that role in another man’s life. In his book that would make him a hypocrite.

The Long Night had ended a fortnight ago, but Gendry, with nowhere to go, had stayed at Winterfell, sleeping in one of the many empty spare rooms of the castle. Lord Snow, after commending him for his bravery in battle, had told him he was more than welcome to stay. Gendry wondered if Arya might have had something to do with that.

It seemed as though she had spent every moment she could by his side in those days that had passed since the sun had risen again. Her company was always welcome; there was a certain comfort and familiarity in her presence, though she was admittedly quite different from the girl he had met on the King’s Road. She was quieter now, reserved, even, though her speech still held the same sharp wit that made him laugh at the barbs and insults that she spoke to him in jest but to certain Northern Lords in full sincerity. She had taken him through the Wolfswood once, the forest now partially destroyed by dragon fire, and her face had held a pained sadness that made her look older than she was.

Although, when he thought about it, she was practically a woman grown now, and he was aware of that whenever the two of them were alone together. He had spent very little of his life around women, but being around Arya made the difference abundantly clear to him. She was his friend, his dearest friend, but there was something decidedly weightier than mere friendship between them. There was also the time, just days before Jon had asked him about legitimization, when she’d taken him to the Godswood. She had shown him the heart trees and then had grasped his hand in her own. She had looked up at him, dark lashes speckled with snow framing her grey eyes, and told him that she was glad he was at Winterfell. At Winterfell _with her_ , she had said. Gendry wasn’t nearly as stupid as she’d often accused him of being, and knew that a woman didn’t say something like that to a man without it meaning something.

Gendry was standing out on one of the long balconies that overlooked the yard, leaning against the railing and watching two young boys sparring with wooden swords. He personally felt that he’d be happy to never again hold a sword in his hand for as long as he lived. He thought about Lord Jon’s offer and he thought about Arya. It would certainly make things easier between them if he was a Baratheon and not a Waters.

Just then Arya appeared at the end of the balcony, as if he had summoned her with his thoughts.

“I saw you from a window," she said, nodding toward the keep. She was dressed in breeches and a woolen tunic instead of a cloak, her hair down and laying about her shoulders.

“Are you spying on me?” he asked, his tone mock-serious.

“If I was spying on you you’d never know it,” she said with a quirk of her lips. He smiled at her.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“Thinking,” he said, “about an offer your brother made me.”

She rose an eyebrow at him.

“He’s offered to legitimize me,” he said slowly. “To give me the Baratheon name.”

Arya’s eyes widened.

“And you’re considering it?”

He nodded.

“Being a bastard still matters to you, then?” she asked, and he detected a note of disappointment in her tone. Gendry heaved a sigh, turning away from her to stare out at the yard.

“I don’t know anymore. It doesn’t seem like it matters to the world anymore, does it? Titles hardly seem to mean anything after everything that's happened.”

“So what good would come from being a Baratheon?” she questioned, leaning her elbows on the railing to match his posture. Her arm pressed against his, and she turned her head so that she was facing him. He met her gaze.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s not about me.”

“It is about you. It would mean I could marry you,” he said.

Though her cheeks were already tinted pink from the cold, Gendry swore he saw their color darken. Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead, her grey eyes wide.

“You… you want to marry me?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yes,” he told her. “I thought that was obvious.”

To his surprise, she laughed.

“Obvious? You couldn’t have made that less obvious if you tried. You barely reacted when I—in the Godswood—”

“What was I supposed to have done?” he asked, his brow furrowing as indignation crept in to his voice.

“Kiss me!” she said, like that was painfully clear, like bastards were expected to kiss princesses.

“How was I to know that?” he nearly shouted, and she started laughing then.

“You’re so stupid,” she said between giggles, and he smiled at her. He couldn’t be mad, not when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her really laugh.

“And what makes you think you can’t marry me now? As Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill?” she said after her laughter died down.

It was his turn to look at her like she’d missed something obvious.

“You’re a Stark. Your family wouldn’t let you marry some bastard.”

“Some bastard?” she said, her voice growing irritated.

“You saved Rickon’s life,” Arya spoke seriously, referring to a moment in battle that, to Gendry, had been far stupider than it was brave.

“No one in my family has forgotten that,” she went on. “And do you really think they could stop me from marrying someone if I wanted to?”

He stared at her for a beat, knowing the likelihood of her words.

“So do you want to?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes before cupping his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his. It was gentle, and shy in a way, like she wasn’t completely confident in what she was doing. When she pulled back from him she was blushing red. The snow that fell silently from the sky collected in little clumps in her dark brown hair.

He thought she was beautiful.


	4. Three Wishes

1.

Gendry Waters wishes he had gone to college. He had the opportunity to go, unlike the vast majority of the kids from his neighborhood. His asshole father had offered to pay for it—all of it. Gendry had told him to go fuck himself. It was the principle of it, really. If Gendry had accepted the money, Robert Baratheon might get the idea that he was forgiven for his complete absence from the first eighteen years of Gendry’s life.

So it was ‘go fuck yourself’ instead of ‘thanks, dad.’

But if he had gone to college it would mean he wouldn’t be working at the mechanic’s shop. It wasn’t that he disliked his job, and he made a decent enough living. But at times he wondered what he’d be doing with his life if he’d had more options. Most importantly, if he wasn’t working at the mechanic’s shop he wouldn’t have been there when she brought her car in to have her brake pads replaced.

He remembers it clearly. He remembers what she’d been wearing: an oversized olive green t shirt and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. Her hair was dark brown and shoulder-length, pushed back from her face in an effortless sort of way. He had practically run from the garage to the adjoined front counter and waiting room when he saw her walk in.

“And I know exactly how much the parts cost and how much the labor should cost, so don’t even think about overcharging me,” she said with a quirk of her lips. He grinned in the way he knew from experience many women found charming.

“Well I’m giving you a steal here,” he said as he typed her information into the computer in front of him.

“Really?” she drawled sarcastically.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, meeting her eyes, which he noted were a deep, mesmerizing grey color.

“You’re practically robbing us, here.”

She rolled her eyes with a laugh. He remembers finding that ridiculously cute.

“You’re really doing me a favor, huh?” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter.

“Most definitely.”

“I suppose I owe you a favor in return, then?”

She was definitely flirting with him.

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he said innocently.

“Hmm, and what should this favor be?”

“Now this is just a suggestion,” Gendry said, “but you could let me take you out this Saturday.”

“I think that sounds fair,” she said, flashing him a wide smile. Her teeth were very straight and white. He returned it in full.

Yes, Gendry Waters should have just accepted his deadbeat dad’s money and gone to school and gotten a degree so that he wouldn’t end up in the mechanic’s shop where he met Arya Stark.

2.

He wishes he had never fallen in love with her. That saying about “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” was complete and utter bullshit. He wishes it had never happened, but God, it had been so easy. Two dates in and he knew that Arya was different from any of the other girls he’d been with. She had a sharp wit and a wicked sense of humor to match. She was smart—she was going to school for marketing when he met her—and most definitely out of his league. Because of her busy school schedule he pretty much only got to see her on the weekends, but that was enough time for him to fall for her. They had moved quickly—staying at each other’s apartments, him meeting her college friends, her meeting his friends and siblings.

He knew that the relationship was serious for her, and it was sure as hell serious for him. She talked to him about things like her father’s death and her childhood up North and her love of the outdoors. She even got him to go camping with her once. He remembers how bright and clear the stars were when they drove just a couple hours outside the city. He remembers how excited she’d been when they got the fire going. He remembers how cold it got that night—she had put on one of his hoodies and they’d crawled into the double sleeping bag and she’d pressed up against him and told him she loved him, and that she’d never felt that way about anyone else. He had returned her words with ease because it was true, he loved her, and they’d had sex in their tent beneath the stars, keeping most of their clothing on but pushing their pants down to their thighs, clinging to each other, with the realization that they were in love nestled between them.

He remembers how she would stop by the garage just to say hi when she had time between her classes, remembers how special it made him feel. She had even decided to stay in town for the summer rather than go home to her family because of him, extending her lease and finding a paid summer internship. They were inseparable that summer. It was the best summer of Gendry’s life.

When she had gone home for a week to visit her family he asked her when he would get to meet them. She gave him a half-formed excuse, something he can’t remember now but that had soothed him at the time. That should have been a warning sign, and he was too old to act like a fool in love, but he _loved_ her, and so what if he couldn’t meet her family yet?

When they’d been together for a year and a half he started thinking they should move in together. He was going to ask her when it happened.

3.

Gendry wishes that he and Arya Stark were not from such different worlds.

He knew her family was wealthy, but he hadn’t known they owned a multi-million dollar company until she told him she was moving back home after graduating to help her brothers run said company. He told her he couldn’t pick up his life and leave.

“I’m not expecting you to,” she said.

He’d asked her if she was breaking up with him. She’d closed her eyes and a tear streamed down her cheek.

“I don’t want this to be harder than it has to be.”

“Then stay. Stay with me.”

“My family needs me.”

He told her he needed her. She told him she was sorry.

And just like that it was over. Just like that the woman he had given so much of himself to was gone, a thousand miles away from him, taking pieces of him North with her.

He likes to try to fool himself into thinking that it was for the best, that something between two people so different was bound to end eventually. But he thinks that’s a lie. He thinks about the way he loved her—still loves her—and the way she loved him and knows that there was something real there. He thinks about all of it and he wonders if she ever thinks about it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated this prompt and couldn't think of anything for the longest time, so the final thing feels a bit rushed. Let me know what you think!


	5. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated g

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this really quickly but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.  
> Don't read the end note if you're not caught up with the show :)

"Don’t leave just yet,” she says hastily, impulsively, and grabs his hand to stop him from turning. It’s the first time she’s touched him in… she doesn’t know how long. She isn’t sure how long it has been since she was Arry, isn’t sure how long it’s been since Harrenhal. All Arya is sure of in that moment is two things. The first is that tomorrow her brother will lead the first group of men and women to the Wall, and she and Gendry will be among that group. The second is that she doesn’t want him to leave her room.

His eyes widen a fraction when she touches him. He stares at her in the light of her torch-lit bedroom. He had come to her room only because he had not had a chance to speak to her privately since he arrived at Winterfell. He’d asked her about the time in between now and when he last saw her. She’d done her best to fill him in.

His hand feels good in hers. His skin is warm. She can’t explain away the feeling in the pit of her stomach she gets from touching him. Maybe it’s only because she’s felt so utterly alone for so long. Maybe she would have gotten that feeling from any other man standing alone with her in her bedroom. Gendry is more than handsome. Arya suspects there’s more to it than that.

“Stay,” she says, her hand still holding his. Gendry furrows his brow.

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should,” she counters, a weak argument if she ever heard one, but she pairs it with an unwavering gaze and a step closer to him. She is very close to him now. Close enough that if someone were to come in to her room they would think something indecent was happening between the Lady Arya Stark and the tall, black-haired knight.

His face is unreadable but she swears she can hear his breathing quicken.

“Stay with me, Gendry,” she says to him, and she is surprised by how vulnerable she feels, how shaken her voice sounds.

He raises his hands until they rest on either side of her face. His gaze leaves hers for a moment to dart to the side, and he takes a deep breath like he’s making up his mind about something. Then he looks at her again and kisses her on the mouth, his lips soft and his stubble rough against her face. It ends after a short while, and he drops his hands back down to his sides.

“Will you stay?” she asks, somewhat awkwardly. He nods his head.

She has already rid herself of her boots and her leather jerkin so she crawls under the furs of her bed, lying on her back and not daring to watch him while he takes off some of his garments. When he joins her he keeps a bit of space between them until she turns on her side and looks at him, and then he is wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, and Arya feels warm, at least for the moment. Tomorrow they will march toward what could be certain death, but for the moment she feels safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys... how did we get a Hot Pie and Arya reunion before a Gendrya reunion... -_-


	6. This is Not a Drill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this prompt. It's probably my favorite one. Story is set in our world in the late 1940s. Rated g.

Arya had just found sleep amidst the rocky lull of the ship when she was harshly awoken by the sound of someone pounding on her cabin door.

“Miss? Miss!” came a deep, male voice from the other side of the wood.

Arya sprang up from the narrow bed, rifling through her trunk and quickly pulling on her dressing gown. She wrapped it tightly around herself before opening the door.

“Good evening, miss,” said the man who had woken her. He was very tall and broad, and appeared to work on the ship—perhaps below deck—judging by the thick muscles of his arms and his grimy skin. He spoke with an American accent.

“We’re evacuating the ship,” he went on. “This is not a drill. Could I have you put this on and come with me?”

He raised the bright orange life vest he was clutching in his hand. Arya’s heart raced in her chest as she told herself to stay calm. Traveling across the Atlantic had been tumultuous, to say the least, and seasickness had wracked her body the first few nights. She’d been so preoccupied with her turning stomach that the possibility of a shipwreck hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Are we sinking?” she asked him, grabbing the life vest and putting it on. She thought of her family back in Ireland receiving news of her death on the high seas. She could already hear the gossipy old women in her town: _That’s what she gets for leaving her family and going to America._

“No, not sinking,” said the man. He wore canvas workman’s pants and a sleeveless undershirt. His hair was dark and disheveled, and he had bright blue eyes that stood out against his tanned skin.

“There’s a problem with the engine. If you will, miss, just follow me.”

Arya quickly grabbed her trunk. It was small and light enough, and she didn’t fancy arriving in New York City with nothing but her dressing gown. She followed the man out of her cabin and up the narrow flight of stairs that led up to the deck.

“The engine?” she questioned, her mind split between mild panic and fascination with his backside as they climbed the steep steps. Arya shook herself.

“To put it simply, we’re worried it might catch fire at any moment and, uh… explode.”

“Explode?!”

Full-fledged panic flooded through her as they reached the deck, the cool breeze of the summer night making her shiver slightly.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said, flashing her a smile which she supposed was at least partially reassuring.

“We’re going to get you onto one of these lifeboats, and I’m going to row us to another passenger ship, larger than this one, that’s already heading—look, just there.”

He pointed to a large shape with twinkling lights that Arya could just make out on the horizon line. He took her over to the edge of the deck, where a dozen young men and women—emigrants, like her—were already seated in a small boat hanging over the ship’s side. He jumped down in to the boat and then held his hands out to her.

“May I, miss?”

“Thank you,” she said as she braced her hands on his shoulders. His hands went around her waist, smoothly setting her in the boat. His large hands were warm against the thin material of her clothing. He was letting go of her far too soon for her liking.

“And please, stop calling me miss,” she added.

He nodded, his sweat-soaked hair falling into his face as he and another well-muscled young man began pulling the ropes to lower them down to the water. Arya saw three other lifeboats already in the water, each with two men rowing them toward the ship in the distance. The young man who had been helping her sat down at the front of the boat, right beside her, and took up the oars, rowing in time with the man at the back.

“What should I call you, then?” he asked, his voice low amidst the chatter of the others on the boat.

“Arya,” she said, gazing at the way his muscles flexed as he rowed.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said, glancing in her direction. She felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the wind course through her.

“Far prettier than miss,” he added, and grinned at her. She smiled back. She wasn’t even in New York yet and already an American boy was flirting with her.

“And I should call you…?”

“Gendry,” he said.

“Gendry,” she repeated, liking the sound of it.

They reached their rescue ship in under an hour, Arya and Gendry talking the whole time. She told him how she was coming to America to find work, how she was going to live in the city with other Irish women and regularly send money back home to her mother and siblings. He told her how his mother had come to the States from Italy, but that he was born in New York. He told her of how big the city was, how many people and shops and buildings there were.

“I’m only working on a ship until my brother gets his business up and running. Then I’m going to work for him, live in the city permanently,” he explained. She hoped he was telling her this because he intended to see her again.

When they reached the second ship he helped her off the lifeboat, grabbing her trunk for her.

“Thank you, Gendry,” she said as she took it, her eyes holding his for a beat longer than necessary, her hand brushing against his. They parted then; she headed for the passenger cabins while he made his way to the worker’s quarters.

“I’ll see you when we dock,” he told her, his words providing her with a delightful sense of anticipation.

She did indeed see him again when the ship docked two days later at Ellis Island. She put on a blouse and skirt, taking the time to braid her long, dark brown hair before grabbing her trunk and heading above deck. Gendry was waiting for her, looking slightly cleaner than he had two nights ago.

“You clean up quite nicely,” he said with a smirk. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“I could say the same for you.”

The wind was blowing through his hair and the bright sunshine was making him squint. In the light, and without the fear from two nights ago, she could see how ridiculously handsome he was.

“I’ll be at sea for three more weeks,” he told her. “And then I’ll be back in the city. You won’t forget about me after three weeks, will you?”

She felt as if she could melt under the gaze of his blue eyes, a feeling she was wholly unfamiliar with.

“Something tells me I won’t,” she said. “But just in case…”

She dug in her skirt pocket, pulling out the slip of paper on which she’d written her full name and the address of her boarding house the night before.

“That’s where I’ll be staying. So…” she said, looking up at him with something of a coy smile, “maybe come see me when you get back.”

She said it less like a question and more like a demand.

“I wouldn’t dream of letting you down,” he said, dropping the flirtatious tone in favor of an earnest one. She believed him.

Arya made her way off the ship and stepped onto the dock with her head held high, knowing that Gendry was watching her. Even if she was alone in a new place, she had him to look forward to.


	7. Treading Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> modern au. rated t.

Falling in love is like drowning.

Or is it like treading water?

Arya isn’t sure which one she’s doing. She’s definitely not floating peacefully on the water’s surface. There are definitely times when it feels like her head is under water, when it feels like her limbs are flailing and she can’t get any air.

She wanted to spend her entire summer after her first year away at school doing nothing but lying on the beach. She had known he would be there; he had never gone to school and lived and worked in the small coastal town. She had mentally prepared herself to see him again and found that it didn’t help at all. Seeing him and his blue eyes and his stupid half-smile—the one where it looked like he was laughing at her—is enough to bring back every memory and feeling that she’s tried to forget in the flurry of class schedules and exams.

What was the point of trying to deny her feelings for him? If she wants to get honest with herself—and vulnerability is not Arya’s strongpoint—she could admit that she loves him. Gendry had always been the person she made exceptions for. He was the only one who she allowed to see the full scope of her emotions. He had seen the sadness she kept hidden from her siblings, the idea of being strong for her family ingrained in her mind since her father’s death.

He was the only person she could cry in front of, and when she did he’d hold her and kiss the salt from her cheeks until she stopped. He always seemed to know how to fix things; even when his own life was a mess he always seemed to be putting hers back together.

She loves him. She had loved him since she was sixteen, when they would drive around in his car listening to the music none of her other friends liked. Gendry would let her drive his car every once in a while, and made fun of her driving abilities the entire time. He had kissed her in that car, leaning over the console and pressing his lips to hers, and she remembers how alive it made her feel, to know that he wanted her in the same way she wanted him.

So she spends her days on the beach and her nights with him—in his car, at his place, in his bed. She imagines her skin tastes like salt when he peels her bathing suit off and kisses her stomach and breasts. And there’s that feeling again—swimming or sinking? Treading water or drowning?

She gives herself up to the pull of the ocean. She plunges into the water; she tells him she loves him. She’s tearing off a little piece of her heart and giving it to him, trusting him to keep it intact.

It’s nighttime and they’re sitting at the end of a dock, their feet in the water, when she says it. He looks over at her, blue eyes that shine in the moonlight, and kisses her, hard, his mouth firm against hers, his hand cupping her cheek.

And she doesn’t need to breathe air, not when drowning feels like this, not when she can live on water and salt and his mouth and his hands.

“I love you, too,” he repeats back to her. “I always have.”

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t frighten her. The way she feels doesn’t frighten her. With other boys—the ones she’d tried to distract herself from him with—she had run as fast as she could as soon as one of them started to feel. With Gendry she has never been able to run, has never wanted to. He knows her soul as if there were a diagram painted on her face.

When the summer ends she has to come up for air. She takes a breath to remind him she’s leaving in a week and a half. They are at the beach, standing in the water when she tells him.

“I know,” he says, voice as calm as the gentle lull of the low tide.

“Do you… still want to be with me? While I’m away at school?”

He takes a step toward her, his hands coming up to rest on her hips.

“I don’t ever want to not be with you.”

When they say goodbye they make promises to see each other soon. He’ll drive down every now and then, she’ll come home for holidays. Leaving him doesn’t even frighten her, not like it had a year ago, not when he’d told her he had always loved her. Not when she knew there was nothing to fear about drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up the prompts! I had so much fun writing these, thank you all for reading.  
> -K


End file.
